If I Forgot Who You Were
by Singing Daisy
Summary: Used to be a 1-shot, but I added a new chapter. Now it's just a bucnh of fluff about Monique Jeffries and Munch, with a little Fin in there, too. R&R please!
1. Forget

**If I Forgot Who You Were...  
**  
"Jeffries! Hey, Jeffries!"  
  
Monique turned around to see John Munch coming after her from the interrogation room. She stopped, reluctantly, and put her hand on her hip, allowing him to catch up with her. John was one of the detectives on her squad, and not exactly the one she wanted comforting her. She had heard that he wasn't very good at that.  
  
"What do you want, John?" she demanded, sounding harsher than she meant to, although it wouldn't have matter with their type of relationship. They were always bad-mouthing each other, but lately, Monique had been growin weary of the constant degrading. To her, it seemed like John was worth so much more than that.  
  
Her tone, though, seemed lost on him, as they began walking out of the station house. "Just, in there... those guys..."  
  
"What about them?" she snapped, although she knew exactly what he was talking about.  
  
He opened the door for her as they stepped into the bright sunshine, another thing that wasn't like him. Chivalry wasn't exactly in his day-to-day vocabulary, especially when it was based towards her.  
  
"They seemed to get to you, that's all."  
  
_You think?_ Monique wondered, harshly. After all, she had just burst into the interrogation room while Munch and Cassidy were questioning a witness, some pig named Tucker, just to give him what for. Not exactly what a person who was not "gotten to" would do.  
  
"Of course they got to me, Munch," she sighed, angrily. "Those racist bastards tied black women to trees to get off. How the hell am I supposed to feel?"  
  
"Touch-ee," Munch said, working hard to keep up with her. "Here I am, trying to comfort you, and you choose _now_ to put up a blockade."  
  
"You know, I don't get you, Munch," Monique informed him, spinning around suddenly to face him. He almost ran into her, but caught himself just in time. "One minute; you act like you want to tear my head off, the next; you want me to _confide_ in you?"  
  
"Well, I change my behavior every few minutes so no one will remember the way my brilliant mind works."  
  
"Yeah, _I'd_ like to know how that mind of yours works," Monique muttered and John grinned.  
  
"No, no you don't."  
  
"You're right," she agreed. "I'd probably die of fright."  
  
"You?" he teased. "The woman that hath no fear? Never."  
  
Monique's face gentled and she looked at the ground. "I have fear, John. Everyone does."  
  
"It was a joke, Jeffries."  
  
"You're losing your touch then," she told him, "because it wasn't funny."  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you?"  
  
"Yes, I'm..." she began, but then realized that she wasn't okay. She wouldn't be until after she had taken her fury out on a punching bag at the gym, gone home, and taken a bubble bath to wash away the day. She sighed. "No, I'm not okay."  
  
"You want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not really," she said. "But I will, because I know you'll pester me until I do."  
  
"Too true, too true," John laughed. Monique rolled her eyes and began the story.  
  
_She was seven years old, not even, when the big man came to their house, looking for her brother Todd. The man was wearing a police uniform, and he introduced himself as Officer Taggert. He said that Todd had murdered someone, and they needed to see him immediately. Momma told him that Todd was in California, which was the truth, but the Officer hadn't believed her. He, instead, with his partner and a few other white, male officers, ransacked the house trying to find him. Monique had sat curled in a corner, wide-eyed and afraid. When it was all over, she had tried to forget everything, and prayed it would never happen again.  
  
But during Christmas vacation that year, Todd had come home. He went out to get some last minute presents, and Monique and her family heard gunshots out in the alley. They ran to find Officer Taggert over Todd's dying body. Taggert wasn't even shook up. He simply said Todd had pulled a gun on him, but Monique knew he was lying. Todd didn't own a gun.  
_  
"I found out later," she told John, "that Officer Taggert was racist, and he had only wanted Todd for that murder because he'd pulled him over before. He was bitter that he couldn't find anything wrong with his driving. Todd was an immacualte driver," she laughed, remembering everything about her brother. "That's why I became a cop, though. So nothing like that could ever happen to anybody else's big brother."  
  
"That's... wow," was all Munch could say.  
  
"Oh, I see I made the Great Munch speechless," Monique teased, but there was sadness in her voice. Her eyes began to tear up and she sniffed to hold them back. John touched her shoulder, comfortingly, but she jerked away. She didn't need his comfort. "I'm dealing with this, John," she told him.  
  
"Is that why you're about to cry?"  
  
She looked up, into his face, and saw only care for her there. His eyes moved across her face, as if searching for something that he couldn't find. Monique had the sudden urge to let him find it. Before she knew what was happening, though, he leaned forward and caught her lips in his own.  
  
For a moment, Monique was taken aback, but soon found herself forgetting who was kissing her. She forgot who was holding her against his warm chest by her waist. She forgot whose hair she found her fingers combing through. She forgot who was brushing her cheek gently with his thumb. She forgot who was kissing her more passionately than she'd ever been kissed before. Then, she remembered.  
  
And she found she didn't mind. 


	2. Love

A/N: I was going to have this remain a one-shot, but I recieved new inspiration. Don't you just love it when that happens? LoL. R&R, pretty please!!

* * *

John Munch sat in his car in the parking lot outside of the station house with his hands on the wheel, praying that it would rain. After all, it almost always rained when people were sad, why not now? When the most important woman... hell, person... in his life had been taken away, why wasn't it raining?  
  
_She wasn't taken away_, he thought, bitterly. _She ran away. Ran away without a second look._  
  
"Without saying good-bye..." he whispered into the the darkness, to no one in particular. Not that anyone was there to listen anyways. No one ever listened to John. He was a loner. Always had been. That's why every time he was sadled with a partner, they left. He probably scared them. Hell, he scared himself sometimes.  
  
"Still here, Munch?" said a gruff, familiar voice from outside the car. Even though John had the windows rolled up, he could hear the voice clearly. Reluctantly, he turned to the passenger window and saw his new partner, Fin Tutuola, leaning over. John rolled down the window, and Fin leaned inside.  
  
"You look like one of our working girls when you stand like that," John informed him. Fin narrowed his eyes, unlocked the door, and slid inside, closing it behind him.  
  
"Since when are they _our_ working girls? We ain't Vice, man."  
  
"Yes, well, we see more hookers than Hugh Grant."  
  
"Hugh Grant only had one."  
  
"That we know of."  
  
"Good point."  
  
John gave a harsh laugh. "Hasn't anyone in the squad told you not to say that sort of thing to me?"  
  
Fin raised an eyebrow. "What sort of thing?"  
  
"'Good point,' 'That's funny,' 'What do you mean,'" John reeled off, ticking them on his fingers. "Hell, sometimes even laughter sets me off. I'm sure Stabler and Benson have told you all about how I love to ramble."  
  
"Actually, no," Fin answered. "But, since you think they would, I'd say you're a little bit bitter."  
  
John gave another laugh. Bitter was not the word for it.  
  
They remained silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. John's continually wandered from Monique, to Boston, to his ex-wives, back to Monique again. The only constant in these thoughts was, _Why do I screw everything up?_  
  
"I'm sorry about your partner," Fin said, finally, jerking John from his self-pity.  
  
"Yeah, so am I."  
  
"She told me to say good-bye to you for her," Fin continued. "She said she was sorry, but she couldn't do it anymore."  
  
"I don't think I can do it anymore," John told him, surprised that he was even mentioning how he was feeling to someone he had just met. Fin remained silent, just looking at him, and John felt uncomfortable under his gaze, so he looked away, out the window.  
  
After a while, Fin gave a sigh and looked forward. "I knew Cassidy for a little while, in Narcotics. For a while, you were all he could talk about."  
  
"Ah, Brian Cassidy," John said, fake reminsence in his tone. "The other partner who switched out on me. Of course, he had the decency to say good-bye before he skipped out. With Monique, I walked into work this morning, and her desk was cleared out. I just love the two weeks notice policy we have."  
  
"She said she was sorry, man..."  
  
"Not to me, she didn't," John interrupted, vehemently. "She said sorry to _you_, and then you, in turn, told _me_. But she knows where my apartment is. She could have come up and told me, and I wouldn't have cared."  
  
"Yes you would have," Fin said. "You would have cared either way."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"Because you are sick of getting pushed aside."  
  
"A few weeks on the job and look who knows so much," John spat. Fin's eyes narrowed again. and he moved to get out of the car.  
  
"Fine, man, you know what? You don't care, I don't care, no one cares. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Fin stepped out and slammed the door behind him. John didn't even flinch, but he did yell, "Yeah, unless you skip out, too."  
  
Fin didn't even look back.

* * *

Munch woke up from a dreamless sleep, and for a moment he didn't know what had awoken him. Then he heard a knock on the door and figured someone must be there. What else would be knocking, dumbass? he berated himself. He wasn't as quick-witted in the morning.  
  
Groggily, he rolled out of bed and walked to the door, thankful that he had slept in his clothes. When he opened the door, he gave an irritable, "What?" before he saw who was there.  
  
Monique looked up at him with a sincere smile on her face. "Nice to see you, too."  
  
John stared at her with his eyebrow raised for what seemed like an hour, wondering if she was going to disappear. After a moment of the uncomfortable scrutiny of Munch's eyes, Monique said, awkwardly, "Can I come in, then?"  
  
John shook himself out of the hypnosis and stepped aside for her to enter. She gave a quick smile before ducking into the apartment. He closed the door after her, and motioned for her to sit on his couch. Monique gave yet another smile and obliged.  
  
"May I ask why you have blessed me with your prescence when all normal people are asleep?" John asked, referring back to humor as his defense mechanism to hide the jumble of emotions he was feeling at that moment.  
  
"I actually came to apologize," Monique said, quickly, not wanting to beat around the bush. John raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips.  
  
"For what, pray tell?"  
  
"I think you know what, John," Monique said, sounding slightly annoyed, but he was used to that tone.  
  
"Really? Because I have a few guesses, but I'd rather you spelled it out for me. You think I'm stupid after all."  
  
Monique looked at him quizzically. "What? John, I never thought..."  
  
"Well, obviously you thought I was stupid enough not to notice that my partner had quit," John spat, unable to keep the venom from seeping from his voice. Monique looked down.  
  
"I really am sorry about that..."  
  
"Save it." John shook his head. "I wasted too much on you."  
  
Monique again looked up at him, losing her awkwardness. "Wasted too much on me? What the hell is that supposed to mean, John?"  
  
"I think you know what it means!" he shouted, unable to control himself any longer. "You seem to have forgotten everything we've been through!"  
  
"John, I haven't forgotten anything!"  
  
"Then why the hell did you sleep with that suspect?!"  
  
John regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. Monique's face tightened in defiance and pain, and John absolutely hated seeing her like that. Trying not to cry. He had seen her like that once before, before they had kissed, but there was more sadness then. Now, she was angry. Angry at him.  
  
John sat slowly down beside her, and reached out to touch her cheek. "Monique, I..."  
  
She slapped his hand away and stood. "Now _you_ can save it. If that's what you think I am, just some whore, then you can save it. And I'm sorry I ever kissed you. Hell, I'm sorry I ever even met you!"  
  
She stood up to leave, but he caught her arm. She turned around, anger still evident on her face. In fact, she looked about ready to punch him, but he just looked up at her with imploring eyes.  
  
"Monique... please don't do this..."  
  
"I can't stay, John," she whispered, the anger quickly dissolving from her face and voice. She couldn't be mad at John. "I just can't."  
  
"You're afraid," John said, standing. "So am I. So are the rest of the people in New York, when they..."  
  
He paused. She looked up at him.  
  
"When they what?" she asked, and he looked down at her, into her soft, brown eyes. Before that moment, he had been afraid to say what he was thinking, but the sincere look in her eyes made his fear wash away.  
  
"When they fall in love," he whispered. Monique looked away, bashful, but John tipped her chin up with his thumb. "Are we, do you think?"  
  
"I think we're as close as we're gonna get," Monique agreed, before lifting her head up to kiss him. His arms moved about her waste, and her hands wrapped about his neck, teasing his hair a little bit. For a moment, John could not remember that they were two seperate entities. Instead, he felt that they were one person, one thing, one soul, just standing in the middle of no where, content to be in each other's arms.  
  
When they pulled away from each other, Monique gave a small sigh. John opened his eyes and smiled at her with so much warmth and sincerity that Monique never knew how much she loved him until that moment.  
  
"None of my ex-wives kissed like that," John commented, rubbing her arm with his hand. She gave him a playful smile, and said,  
  
"That's because none of your wives were me."


End file.
